Unexpected Beginnings
by Ballettmaus
Summary: 17 months ago, a job offer turned Mac's and Stella's lives upside down, leading to changes they never expected.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

A million thanks to Lily_Moonlight and her prompt corrections! Can't tell you enough how much I value your reliable service!

Wishing everyone a very Happy New Year! Enjoy!

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><p>He couldn't tell why but he had needed to come again, simply to look at it and there he stood. Leaned against the driver's side of his car, he stared at the two-story building, the house which was the only one that lay dark, dormant, in a time of year when no other house was. It was the only house that was vacant. Vacant yet not without an owner. Not anymore. As of yesterday the house truly and wholly belonged like he had understood he belonged because he had understood that there weren't any choices to regret. Not even that of 1 ½ years ago when the job offer she had gotten had resulted in an argument that had torn them apart and he had lost yet another woman who mattered; who he cared for deeply. Lost in a different way but lost nonetheless and for weeks that had exactly what he had been, too. Lost.<p>

Realization and acceptance had been slow yet they had happened and with that, recovery had begun. It had been a lot quicker, so that no more than 15 months after he had taken the step which had turned his life around, he had bought a house. The same house they had passed on so many walks they had taken through her neighborhood, the same house they had started to talk about, jokingly at first then more seriously, the same house they had begun to envision themselves in even though they had both never considered buying a house before. Yet circumstances had changed and it was that house they had toured a few weeks ago because they had been curious as to what it looked like on the inside. And it was that same house they had seen was still available on yet another of their walks a month ago on Thanksgiving.

It was then that he had made the decision he had already been pondering for a couple of weeks. And during the moments he wondered what in the world he was doing, he blamed her for the spontaneity of it. But he knew she meant what she had said and he knew what he wanted; he wanted that baby she would agree to only under one condition.

Even if the baby had other plans.

The thought made him smile; life had funny ways sometimes. But he was learning to appreciate that, its unpredictability, and she was a good teacher for that. She was, in fact, a good teacher for so many things, each moment of their shared life showing so clearly why the relationship had been the right choice. The only choice.

Drops of rain began to hit his forehead, big, round, splashy, and he knew that his only choice in that moment was to get back into the car if he didn't want to end up getting soaked to the bone. She should be home from work by now anyway and slipping back behind the wheel, he set the car into motion.

…

The scent of vanilla and cinnamon filled the bathroom, perfectly suiting the very feminine pleasure of a bubble bath; suiting also the time of the year. Much to the contrary to the high of 70 degrees they had had today. Temperatures Stella still hadn't gotten used to having in the month of December or winter in general, even if it was already the second one she had spent in New Orleans. As much as she had complained, she missed the cold, the hoping for a White Christmas, the hope for fireworks which would be reflected by snow…

And right now she was missing so much more; she was missing someone to celebrate with.

She had had a few invitations from the few friends she had made in the past year or so, mostly co-workers, and she had also had a few invitations from the friends she kept in contact with in New York. For both Christmas and New Year's. But she had declined them all.

Being without a family she didn't mind working on the holidays; it granted those _with_ a family time so they could spend them with their loved ones and this year work had served the double purpose of that and distracting her from dwelling on the fact that there wasn't someone – Mac, to be exact – to go out to a late dinner with. Or bring in the New Year with. To sum it up, it had prevented her from dwelling on being entirely alone.

Shutting her eyes, she sank deeper into the water, trying to push those thoughts aside. She had wanted the bath to relax, to wash away some of the tiredness that had crept into her bones and that had made her go home less than an hour ago. If she could have, she would have stayed yet after the call to a scene had woken her at 5:30 this morning and she had worked for 16 hours straight her concentration had started to fade. Staying at work would not only have risked hers but everyone else's safety as well.

A faint jingle reached her ears and she jerked up. She could have sworn that it had come from outside the bathroom, the hallway to be exact yet as she now listened for any signs of an intruder, she heard nothing. Perceiving further silence for a few more moments, she dismissed it as a noise that had originated from one of her neighbors and allowing her finely tuned senses to relax again, she sank back into the water. She should get out, get dressed, grab a bite to eat. _Should_. Because none of it sounded appealing. Food least of all but the other two were a close second and third. There seemed no apparent reason to leave the comfort of the soothing water; all there was, was an empty apartment on the other side of the bathroom door, without anyone who would be waiting for her to snuggle into their arms, pass the time till midnight with. As long as she was in here, she could at least pretend.

Yet reason won; she wasn't doing herself any favors by remaining in the tub and after she had sunk beneath the water line for one final time, she reached for a towel. Wrapped in the soft piece of fabric, she got out, emerging minutes later from the bathroom clad in a leisure suit, her wet curls falling loosely onto her shoulders. Quietness greeted her as she had known it would, the sigh which fled from her lips barely disrupting the stillness. Dinner crossed her mind again and was dismissed, a glance at the clock telling her that there was a little over 20 minutes left until she could send the texts with the New Year's wishes to New York. She would follow those by a few selected phone calls in the hope that the networks weren't overloaded and which would keep her busy until she could bring in the New Year herself. But that was 20 minutes away, deciding that a tea sounded good, she walked down the hardwood-floored hallway, hardly making a noise in the thick, soft socks which covered her feet. In great contrast to whoever was on the other side of her front door.

Reacting quickly, she retrieved her gun from the purse she had left it in and positioned herself behind the door then thrust it open, her words getting stuck in her throat.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

Thank you, again, to Lily_Moonlight and her opinion and corrections.

Sorry for the slight delay; I had meant to post much earlier but a really crazy travel got in the way.  
>I split the second part up for reader's convenience. The third and finaly part should be up much quicker though! Enjoy!<p>

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><p>"Mac?" she exclaimed once she had found her voice again, staring at the figure standing in front of her – completely soaked. An image she had seen before, 15 months ago when she had opened the door to reveal him standing in the exact same spot, looking the exact same way. Six weeks after she had left New York; eight weeks after she had last seen him. Eight weeks after they had spoken those painful and hurtful words that she had thought unnecessary then and now knew to have been cruel and heart-wrenching but essential. Because after tearing them apart it was those words which had brought them closer together than they had ever been before.<p>

"It's raining," he stated.

She lifted her brows mockingly, her eyes wandering down and up his body. "Now that you mention it…"she replied, suppressing a smile. An exchange that _hadn't _happened 15 months ago since at the sight of him the tears she hadn't cried after the actual dispute had finally spilled forth and all he had done was draw her into his arms. He had held her, soothed her and then, before they had spoken a word, their lips had met in a play of passion, desire, needs. Lost within seconds they had followed where it had led them, and it wasn't until an hour after his arrival that, snuggled into the sheets, they had finally talked.

But tonight wasn't then and realizing that she hadn't moved, she opened the door wider.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, shutting the door behind him. He was supposed to be in New York, at work, as he had told her he would be when he'd been in New Orleans at Thanksgiving. He wouldn't be able to spend either Christmas or New Year with her, he had said with the deepest regret and apology.

"I live here," he replied smartly. "Partially, at least," he added, leaning forward. Yet she took a step back.

"You're drenched," she reminded him then grinned. "You shouldn't have walked from the airport."

"Had to park down the street," he grunted, not the least amused. Or at least pretending not to be, the twinkle his eyes lit up with said something different.

But she didn't notice, his choice of words having caught her attention. "Park?" she inquired.

He glanced up, their eyes meeting.

"I've got a rental," he said shortly.

"What for?" she pried. He had never rented a car; she had one so there had been no need for him to do so…Yet he just shrugged with indifference, seemingly sidetracked as he reached into his jacket, retrieving two papers from his inside pocket. Both were damp but appeared to be relatively unaffected and relief settled on his features. Curiosity lined hers yet he ignored it.

"Let me change first," he said and was already heading for the bathroom before she had had a chance to reply.

"Sure," she muttered in a delayed reaction, watching him disappear. And smiled at the grumble she heard almost the same instant. The bathroom surely still resembled a sauna and he probably felt like he had run against a wall.

"You weren't supposed to be here!" she called after him, unable to resist the teasing.

Another grumble was her reply and she laughed, finally moving from her spot. Less tired than she had felt moments ago, she strolled into the kitchen and started preparing the intended tea. Faint noises remained in the background; all those sounds of someone else being present and which proved that he was really here, something which was sinking in only slowly. Especially since deep down, she had hoped for such a surprise a week ago and had struggled with disappointment the night of Christmas Eve and all day of Christmas Day, not even daring to hope this time…

"Hey," he said softly, startling her out of her thoughts. His arms wrapped around her and smiling, she glanced over her shoulder.

His wet dress pants and shirt were replaced by sweats and a sweater and satisfied, she leaned in. "Hey yourself," she replied, lifting her head so his lips could capture hers. Engage her in a kiss filled with the tenderness and caution of a first time, the affection and love of a seasoned couple, the curiosity and fervor of teenagers. A mixture of emotions full of the contrasts they as persons were, sensations which were so familiar yet still left so much to discover and they took their time to explore before beginning to draw apart. Her head sinking into the crook of his neck, they savored the aftermath, the rhythmic beating of their hearts drowning out the rest of the world.

"Where'd you put your wet clothes?" she asked in a murmur, her eyes still closed.

"In the tub," he said, the smile that she couldn't see audible in his voice. As tidy and organized as he was, worn clothes usually ended up in a heap on a chair or the bed where they were left for her to find. Something she minded only because she didn't understand why it was so much more of an effort to open the closet door and throw clothes into a laundry hamper. But finding clothes on chairs also meant that he was with her, that they were spending some of those few days a month together and it was a habit of his that she had secretly come to adore.

Shifting, she let her eyes flutter open, turning in his arms and feeling for his hands which rested on her lower back, covering his with hers. "How long are you here for?" she asked, her voice as hopeful as the gaze she looked at him with.

To her surprise and intrigue he was hesitant, his hands entwining with hers. He toyed with her fingers before breaking the embrace, tightening his grip around one of her hands as the other let go. Ignoring the curious puzzlement on her face he led her out of the kitchen and the tea forgotten, she followed him into the living-room, over to the tree they had gotten during his stay on Thanksgiving. An artificial tree as they hadn't found anything else but he had insisted they needed one and she had relented. – And she was happy now that she had as it sparkled in the fairy lights they had decorated it with, basking the room in a magical glow, making the raindrops which drummed against the window shimmer in the hues of a rainbow.

Obliging to his tender urging, she lowered herself onto the arm rest of the sofa, her hand though remained entwined with his, her hold tightening when she felt him wanting to draw away, loosening when his tightened in return: a game of affection that had started the first time they had stood at New Orleans' airport three days after he had shown up at her door. Since then, their romantic relationship had deepened to incredible strength, the game, on the other hand, was still the same. Still a code for words they didn't need to speak, a symbol for the invisible bond they were connected through.

A knowing smile on their lips, laughter dancing in their eyes, she finally let his hand go free and it slipped out of her reach, the sensations, however, lingering within her.

"Originally, I'd planned on being here last week," he explained, retrieving a wrapped, box-shaped object from his pants' pockets. "But Sinclair begged me to stay," he added with a grunt. She couldn't suppress the smirk; she hadn't been particularly fond of the Chief either but the fact that he had made it possible for her to be able to leave New York within two weeks 1 ½ years ago had cemented Mac's dislike for his boss even further.

"And I don't know why I let him talk me into doing him a last favor," he muttered. Her eyes snapped up.

"Is he retiring?" she asked.

Again, Mac regarded her with hesitation. "No," he said slowly, spiking her curiosity further. In response, he extended the gift but she didn't take it, studying him instead. She had gotten her Christmas gifts already; they had opened their gifts on Christmas morning while on the phone. She the ones he had placed beneath the tree on Thanksgiving, he the ones she had sent to New York after learning that they wouldn't be able to spend the holidays together.

"Open it," Mac demanded gently, squeezing in between her and the back of the sofa.

Finally taking the gift, she inspected it for another moment before placing a kiss on his lips and leaning into the arm which snaked around her waist as she began to peel away the paper.

"Keys?" she wondered, glancing over her shoulder with confusion. They weren't keys to his apartment in New York; those looked different and she had gotten her set back with the start of their relationship anyway. But he didn't reply or offer an explanation, he simply smiled with a ghost of mystery playing around his lips.

"There's more," he said, the deep timbre of his voice calm, wrapping her into a soothing grasp. Though she could tell that he was nervous as hesitation flashed up in his eyes again and a second passed before he retrieved a folded piece of paper from his pants' pockets. The same he had had in his jacket earlier, the paper undulated at its edges and she watched him hold on to it. He seemed to want to comment but in the end he didn't, handing her the paper wordlessly instead and observing her every move as she unfolded it.

"Mac!" she gasped once she had scanned over it, sitting up straight and slipping out of his arms. At a loss for words, she stared at him then at the paper she had in her hands; the copy of his resignation as the head of the New York crime lab, of an NYPD officer altogether.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

As always, thank you Lily_Moonlight for the corrections and helping me iron out the small kinks!

Hope you all enjoy this third and final part.

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><p>"What… Why?" She lifted her eyes back up, staring at him once again.<p>

"So many reasons," he said in almost a whisper, the care his words were laden with still able to cause goose bumps to spread over her skin. "But first and foremost, I don't want to go on like this." Barely grazing her skin, his fingertips trailed over her face, over her cheekbone and cheek to her jaw, lingering, stroking. "I don't want a long-distance relationship anymore. I want to be with you each day of the week." He paused, cupping her cheek with a feathery touch. "And I want that baby, Stella," he added quietly then his lips curled into the hint of a smile. "And since I get that only once we're living in the same city…" His words were less serious and there was a trace of something that suggested he knew more than he was telling. Yet it faded into the background when memories surged to the foreground. Memories of that lighthearted conversation they had had some time in late September or early October, lying cuddled in each other's arms on his couch, not really watching the Cubs game that had flickered across his TV.

A conversation which had been mostly casual and non-committal, the chatter playful, and she opened her mouth now to object, to remind him how they hadn't meant what they had said. But she couldn't because she _had_ meant it when she had said that she would agree to trying for a child only under the condition of them living in the same city, in a place they called theirs. Although the baby had been less considerate than its father was…

"Mac," she said, now hesitant herself. His hand glided from her face as she lowered her eyes, and letting the paper slide onto the coffee table, she rubbed a slow hand over her abdomen. "About that trying…" she began glancing at him in contemplation as her fingers found each other. "It's not that I don't want a child, but we can't try." Her fingers pressed together, she broke off, realizing that it wasn't what she had wanted to say. "We could, of course. Try I mean," she made another attempt, oblivious to the amusement which was edging into his features. "It's just that we have. Not tried but, you know, had sex and I don't even know how it happened but it won't work." Dropping her hands to her thighs, she paused again, staring at her fingers. Somehow this had seemed a lot easier all the times she had gone over it in her mind; words hadn't eluded her then and had actually come out in sentences which made sense. "It would," she said determined, lifting her gaze back up. "It would work, and I _do_ know…"

"I know," he interrupted gently, his eyes still twinkling with the same amusement that kept playing around his lips.

Yet she didn't notice, shaking her head. "No, it's not that," she said. "Mac, I_ can_ have children and I have. Not, actual children, not yet but…"

"You're pregnant," he finished for her, his hands curling around hers. "I know," he repeated, his turquoise eyes gleaming like a sunlit ocean.

"No," she insisted then halted, finally understanding what he was telling her. "You know?"

His smile widened. "I do," he nodded, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear for the simple purpose of wanting to. "Flack let something slip three days ago."

"Oh."

It was all she said because it was all she could think of saying, her eyes searching his as she tried to decide whether or not to be upset that Flack had blurted out what had been rightfully hers to tell.

"Though I guess dropping the cat from the bag face first would describe it more accurately," Mac muttered, unable to suppress a grin at the memory. "He asked how you were and if the morning sickness had gotten any worse," he said in a firmer voice, amusement continuing to twinkle in his eyes.

A strange combination of a groan and chuckle escaped her lips; Flack's remark couldn't have been more obvious and as skillful as he was in talking himself out of things, she was sure that this had surpassed even his expertise.

"Next time I'll think twice before trusting him with a secret again," she grunted, not entirely serious. She knew he could be trusted and if she wasn't able to confide in Mac, he would always be her choice to do so.

"That sounds like a good plan," Mac agreed lightly, regardless, she glanced at him in contemplation.

"You're not mad, are you?" she asked. "That Flack knew before you?" she clarified in response to his questioning look. She hadn't been under the impression that he was but she needed the answer he gave in form of a shake of his head.

"I would have loved to know first," he admitted with a kiss to her forehead, "but since I'm sure you wanted to be the one telling me," he continued as he placed a kiss to her nose. "I think we're even," he concluded, his lips meeting hers. She smiled into the kiss, responding only sporadically as she concentrated on the sensations, the caressing she would never tire of receiving, the conveyance of the many feelings he had for her, put into every kiss. More perceptible at times than others but whenever his lips captured hers, his feelings for her were present, told her what he sometimes couldn't say.

They parted slowly, both smiling, gazing into each other's eyes to conclude the tender exchange before he pulled her back against his chest.

"I wanted to tell you personally," she said, finding his hand and pressing her palm against his. "That's why I didn't call. But Flack called me Monday and I had already known for three days… I needed to tell _someone_…" Intertwining her fingers with his, she tilted her head back so she could look at Mac without lifting it.

"So he said," he nodded, the illusion of a smile lifting his lips upward. "After I had stopped staring at him as if he'd grown four more heads. And after I'd comprehended that he was babbling about mixing things up with a case his mind had been busy with because you were _actually_ pregnant," he added, disbelief and laughter underlying his remembering voice. Sensations she knew all too well as she hadn't been any less stunned to be told that she was pregnant. She had, after all, been taking a contraceptive up until eight days ago when she had learnt of her pregnancy as the result of a routine check-up the job required her to pass regularly.

"And after Flack had realized there was no way of talking himself out of it," Mac's amused reminiscence cut into her drifting thoughts and she glanced at him with curiosity. "I'm afraid I can't tell you about it. At least, not right now," he said and her curiosity became skepticism. "What he said is for adults only."

At that, her brows shot up. "Do you know something I don't?" she asked, disentangling her fingers from his and twisting in his arms to face him more easily. "The last time I checked I was over 21."

"You are," he replied matter-of-factly both his hands settling where their child had so unexpectedly begun its path of life. "But whoever's in here isn't." He seemed serious yet she laughed nonetheless, the protective pride his words and gesture were filled with, however, didn't go unnoticed, was warming her from the inside out. Made her realize that she had been right to think they would figure something out about their living arrangements and not let worries take away the joy and excitement.

"Whoever's in there is probably not quite six weeks old, Mac," she smiled, relaxing back into his chest and covering his hands with hers.

"Can't be careful enough," he stated and she laughed again. But the lightness of his words wasn't able to mask the pensiveness they were underlined with and she tipped her head back once more.

"The week of Thanksgiving," she confirmed the calculation she assumed his mind was busy with. A soft smile lingered on her lips but he didn't return it, studying her instead, asking a question without asking it and she smirked, mockingly, sassily.

"I know we had sex," he said dismissively, unable to fully suppress a smile of his own and for a second she was tempted to tease him about watching his language. "But we usually do when we're together," he reminded her almost smartly. Yet the smile was fading, warmth and affection replacing it as his eyes pulled her into a moment of intimacy and love, his lips capturing it, grazing hers, melting with them.

"So," he whispered, drawing away, his breath tingling her skin. "What's so special about Thanksgiving?"

Wrapped into the comfort the kiss left her with, she let her eyes flutter open, her gaze mirroring the emotions her mind was dazed with.

"Everything," she whispered back, locked her gaze to his as memories of the full week they had had together floated through her. Of the simple early-afternoon walk they had taken on the day of his arrival which had turned into a night filled with intimacy, endless talks and comfortable silences. A night which had made them forget that a whole world existed outside her apartment walls just like tonight was beginning to make them forget that again.

"I know," he replied softly, his lips meeting hers again. "But it could have happened when you were in New York a couple of weeks earlier. Or some time before that."

Twisting herself back into a more comfortable position she shook her head, her fingers entwining once again with his. "Doesn't fit with my periods," she said quietly, glancing at him anew and stealing another kiss. "And I just know." She looked at him, held his eyes, sank into their tenderness and trust, when something else crossed her mind. "You'll be here on Friday, right?" she asked carefully. Hopefully. "For the doctor's appointment. The first ultrasound." Judging from his resignation she thought he would be, nevertheless she forced herself not to get carried away. She didn't want to get excited only to have to crash back down to earth.

"I'll be here…" he said slowly, letting the sentence trail out and sandwiching his hand between hers, she waited for him to go on. He didn't, withdrawing one arm from around her instead and fumbling with something before producing another piece of rain-rippled paper.

Shifting in his arms, she took it when offered, unfolding it while her curious eyes never wavered from his and dropped only once the entire sheet was opened up.

"Commander?" she asked, throwing him another glance.

"Over at the 2nd district," he nodded. Her gaze locked with his then went back to the copy of the contract of employment that would make him a New Orleans police officer in exactly 37 minutes. "The position was vacant," he added and this time she nodded.

"I know," she murmured absently. "I thought you hated politics," she said, turning to face him again.

"It's not politics," he replied, brushing back a few curls that had fallen into his line of vision of her features.

"You're supervising a whole district," she pointed out. "_Of course_, it's politics."

"Politics with field work," he conceded. She rolled her eyes. "I'm not getting any younger, Stella," he said, the words stretched, proof of what she knew: such an acknowledgement wasn't easy for him. "Besides, it pays well and gives me the possibility of sticking to a regular schedule."

"And I'll make sure you'll do just that," she warned, the playfulness laced with a firmness that let him know she was serious. He just smiled in response, lifting his hand to cup her cheek, to touch her with that feathery touch that held so many emotions, that made her feel like his most precious treasure.

"And I won't even mind," he murmured, another instant passing before her eyes dropped to the paper she still held and from there drifted over what lay on the coffee table.

"When did it all happen?" she asked, placing the copy of his contract on top of that of his resignation.

"Thanksgiving," he answered as her eyes lingered on the keys. "After we saw that 'our place' was still available."

Drawing her gaze away from the keys, she sank back into his chest. "It's not anymore," she sighed with a trace of regret. "I passed it this morning, the sign is gone…" She froze, stared, turned to face him. "The keys," she whispered, huge eyes focused on Mac. They flickered to the keys then back to him. "They're not…" She didn't dare to finish, the thought too absurd. Even for him. Even if she had known him to be attentive, caring and invested already when they had still been friends. Even if she had learned in the 15 months that they had been together that he was even more so as a boyfriend. Even if they had begun to seriously consider buying a house instead of renting an apartment because New Orleans wasn't New York. Even if it was only a small one in a row of other typical New Orleans' houses. Even if they had talked more and more about this particular one and had, after seeing it and just for the sake of it, talked about what they thought would be a good offer. Even if everything considered made it seem possible, a house was so much; was too much like a fairy tale.

"They are," he said, his arms still wrapped securely around her. Fortunately, as in that moment she was sure she wouldn't have been capable of sitting up on her own. "I just… We've passed this house so often and no one seemed to want it. And on Thanksgiving… It all seemed to fall into place."

She knew he was speaking, felt the tenderness of his voice, heard him as he went on to explain that he had signed a faxed preliminary contract a couple of weeks ago and had done the rest of the paperwork the previous day. But his words floated right past her since she was still in the process of grasping the full meaning of everything he was telling her.

"They accepted the offer we discussed," Mac continued in the same affectionate voice he reserved only for her. "I also spoke to the real estate agent; the papers are ready for you to sign on Monday."

She didn't respond, simply continued to stare at him as it all sunk in, tears suddenly springing into her eyes. Her emotions had been a roller-coaster this past week anyway and she had been at the verge of crying over spilled milk – literally on the evening of Christmas Day – several times. But so far, she had been able to keep her composure, this, however, was more than her hormonal self could handle and feeling the tears getting the upper hand, she scooted away from him.

"Where do you think you're going?" he whispered, both arms pulling her closer to him, hindering her from getting up.

She didn't have an answer, muttering something about needing something.

"No," he interrupted her. Making things even worse.

"Mac, please," she pleaded. She glanced at him, tears hanging from her eyelashes and she tried to laugh. "This is ridiculous." Yet instead of a dismissive scoff she almost choked on her words and he tightened his embrace, pushing her head gently against his chest.

"It's not," he said. "You're hormonal."

"I know," she replied a bit too harshly. But it was him who apologized, causing fresh tears to well up in her eyes.

"Stop that," she sniffed, burying her face in his shirt.

"What?" he asked and meant it.

"Being so understanding," she mumbled. He laughed, pressing a kiss to her hair. "You're not helping," she whined.

"I'm afraid you'll have to deal with that," he said as one of his hands lifted her face so he could look at her; could wipe away her tears. "I don't plan on going anywhere," he added, then, as his arm went back around her waist, the seriousness faded, mischief dancing into his eyes. "You're carrying my child."

Her brows rose. "You better think of a million more reasons why you're not going anywhere," she suggested in a playful threat.

"A million and one," he retorted and she smiled before sinking back into his chest. The tears weren't entirely gone but the sense of comfort which spread through her, the sense of security, were stronger, allowed her to push them aside, for now, and for the first time in the past week she felt herself truly relax. Felt all the hours of work she had strained her adjusting body with, all the disappointments and joys of the past week, to catch up with her. Within seconds, tiredness had engulfed her again and she would probably have dozed off just as quickly had she shut her eyes. But there were four minutes left until midnight and determined to stay awake, she let her thoughts wander. Over the past hour, over all the facts which had changed her life; had turned it from her life to theirs.

"When are you going to move?" she inquired as she began to draw random patterns over the back of his hand.

"I already have," he replied and despite her fatigue, she shifted her head. "I've got a suitcase with clothes in the hotel I stayed in the past couple of days and everything else is packed up. Flack's going to oversee the movers on Monday."

"Flack?" she asked, a teasing smile on her lips, her fingertips still exploring the back of his hand.

"I asked him a couple of weeks ago," Mac explained in mock-defense.

"I guess, in that case, you'll have to trust him to do a better job with that than he did keeping a secret," she said, the smile lingering on her lips and this time, he smiled as well. Knowingly, as they both knew they weren't serious and they exchanged that knowledge and so much more before she snuggled back into his chest. Content with his answer, with the moment, with all that lay ahead of them.

"Happy New Year, Stella," he whispered, his face lain against hers, the warmth of his skin warming her.

"Happy New Year," she whispered in return. But her tired eyes sparkled, shimmered with the certainty that happy it would be, filled with joy, a bundle of it, and allowing her eyes to finally shut, she drifted off to sleep. Enveloped in that sensation of being cared for, of rightness and protection she had felt first when she had fallen asleep in his arms for the very first time 15 months ago and that she felt ever since, whenever she was with him, in his arms, because amongst changes, chaos, obstacles and hurdles, there was one constant. There was their love for each other and that would remain. Forever.


End file.
